Jump to content

L E V I A T H A N

Members
  • Content Count

    575
  • Joined

  • Last visited

About L E V I A T H A N

  • Rank
    Aficionado

Profile Information

  • Gender
    BDB
  • Location
    Michigan
  • Interests
    Writing, brainstorming, deep lore, various game franchises, WEAPONS AND MARTIAL ARTS, exploration, adventure,
  • Occupation
    Restaurant Server

Contact Methods

  • Discord
    Malum In Se#9476

Recent Profile Visitors

2,340 profile views
  1. Assuming supernal doesn’t have a true story to this, do we like mages harvesting, honest organ theft, aliens, or maybe something like a wendigo or something if the organ victims are not alive following the organ theft. Could tie things to the Mule(?) maybe ? Or MOWGUL if we wanna go the route of semi mundane bs
  2. Friends, might we think up a loose outline or key points we want / need? As it stands we’re making around ~ $850 USD each for this investigation without it escalating. Any intentions to escalate or shall we push for completion > deep plot? I’m ok with both but I’d like to hear how we feel regarding action scenes, investigative parts, how long and/or peaceful things like our walk ends up. Just probing for thought u w u
  3. Tfw you intend to lance a dragon with your body👀💧💧
  4. Yea I DONT differentiate it’s all at once like the canon ! 😂😂😂😂😂😂
  5. X A R A N E U S V Á L K A Dank and damp were the wetlands of Dawic. Fortunate was He who Flew. Contrary to popular expectation was this sight: Brunette Plumage and Hair to match; six great wings moving what most might assume to be a divine being through the air. In truth, he was no higher than any bird with wings in his own eyes. Humility hung over him in modest accommodation, as prescribed by the Faith and their Creator. Grad na had been graced with this being mere decades ago, yet it was He who moved without Company. He did not need them, and it was not arrogance that spoke. His acts were his own, and a direct extension of the Creator's Will; this was largely his own opinion, but he was certainly not the only one with it. And so it was that Xa-Válka moved through and above the region without issue and without those of like feathers. Word of a rise in attacks in the already hardship-addled region drove his motivation. By His Will, this would cease. While not familiar outside of company sweeps over the region, his eyes read well when on the move. Dawic was within range, now. He could smell it. Smell the rot, the bog, the notes of death and wild animals tapered off by tanning dens in the caves. These dwarves and their human and non-human constituents were bustling against adversity and the Povisoko(Arch[angel]) respected it. Just another reason to give aid to those who reached out and worked for their cut of land, however putrid the place was to a being from the cloudscapes. Descent delivered the Válkan to the land. Something of a high waisted skirt, looking to be a folded down yoga or tunic of some sort that hid the navel. Belted, sashed, banded at the biceps and thighs of one were to see either. A waist belt of scale and fur was adorned. Three rings worn among eight fingers and two thumbs. His radiant aura suppressed with his wings, which now lie against his back and beneath a cloak dark as the night sky. As if a storm had been wrenched from the sky. War-ready caligae strapped to his feet and calves meant he would not be bogged down so literally. He was not of this world and it showed. A clandestine House noted for their lack of blending in to the sky. They were not to be obscured and for good reason. No one knew why the Válka were so dominantly brunette, but it had issued an idea about them. Initially, passive oppression and “purpose” on the front lines to serve as the diversion. Now? Any one Válkan was worth a handful of Ang’eli, or so Xaraneus felt. Identifying the origin of various distress notices was common for his kin in lands bearing their presence. While Grad na bore no true fealty or affiliation with many terrestrial planes, they did take pity and try to indulge the wants and wishes of the late Titus. A good man and greater Angel, but ultimately deceased and deposed. Their world was political turmoil and Xara needed space more often than not. Pointless murder and rage was moot, but bettering the lives of others had merits. Reconnaissance missions noted a local Blacksmith hoping for aid, and he would receive it. This swamp would be liberated if he saw to it. What was not expected was the foul scent of a Fallen, likely a deserter at that. They did not smell of the reduced Wingless, moreso it smelled of the skies down here. Muddled by Dwarven musk and inhibition was they who walked without grace. A grimace, then a glare, and finally a finely pressed frown on an otherwise graceful and tanned complexion was worn on the Arch’s face. Outside of Swally’s did he find himself staring down at a wretched Fallen Middling. The dishonor was tangible on him; he had been slighted by the Ruling Houses, yet he did not smell of burnt feather and flesh. Disgrace, but lacking disfigurement. Perplexing, but true as the day was bright. “By Their Will.. Ničija Zemja was not good enough for you?” He mused in pure condescension. In a blink, he was within reach; arms crossed over broad and full pectorals. Molten eyes fell on what he assumed to be a male now. His voice was deep, calm, yet sharp as a snake’s fang. “What business do you have here?” A cestus of hard light condensed into a warbling distortion around his dominant hand. A sliver of his immense aura was expressed, applying pressure on the air around him to assert himself. Typical Highborn... Only he hated the Noble District. He knew it well and danced through it with ferocious grace, but he loathed such interactions.
  6. That IS the Brawn type 🤑 at least in my book. to reiterate Saul is all three, as I’m sure Dauner is. Lol
  7. AAAAAA THANK YOU I will edit. Just Assume he has found you guys 😂🙏
  8. Y S H M A E L , T H R I C E - B L E S S E D A G E N T "Misguided servants of the traitor Gaia. Long have you wallowed in your goddess' vile filth, Tonight I free you from your chains, tonight you all help kindle the flames of Justice." Exclaimed Kahd'Xel. Gaian Faith was on attack and it could be felt in every fiber of every being subject to this attack. Existence was to be extinguished in a land of chaos and righteous perseverance if he had it his way. If Kahd'Xel were to succeed, Michael, The Abbey, All of Aspyn.. they would all be reduced to nothing. Yshmael knew it would take everything everyone had in them to overturn such biased "Justice". He knew that Michael would have to perish for any of this to persist beyond anything other than a sad attempt at squandering such a bustling hub of life. He would not. He could not. He was to be the dog with his tail between his legs, if not another doomed naysayer to the radiant life given by their Verdant Mother. As the filth expelled from Kahd'Xel crashed into the vicinity, the Terran Major was swift with his response. It was an amazing sight to behold. “Don’t talk about...” Kahd’s words were exactly the gasoline the kindling flames of Michael’s power needed. The roiling white flames licking at his frame suddenly became a volcanic inferno that blasted and roared off of him. The smaller of the two spread his feet, lowered his center of gravity, preparing both hands to pump forward as Kahd’s mouth open. His voice was as loud as an atom bomb. “My mother...” As the gas came from Kahd’s mouth, Michael’s fists splayed their fingers wide, his arms punching forth. “THAT WAY!!!” The radiant attack was something to bear witness to, for definite. It could not deter the rest of the world around them. In response to everything happening, Yshmael elected the responsible route and pinned the scene in the back of his mind for residual observation should something huge happen. Duty before pleasure. His resolve would be steeled as he resorted to directing his defending party. While no leader, he had been among the Cadre, and bore merit solely from such closeness with Oracle Commager. Yshmael's body whirred to action in a blink, turning from the twenty-something behemoth destabilizing the Wall and to the flooded innards of the Interior's Edge. A grimace befell him as he shook off the blasphemous excretions of the Xelken scum, their fog, and their lord; contact between the protective torc and the emissions of grotesque gases drew about a protective filtration for the few inches around the Apprentice's head. As if Holy Mist sat around his dome, the defenses of Michael's making were applied in righteous fullness. Fresh enough air was the result, and much to his benefit. The Agent and Priests willed all manners of descent into being: slopes from the top of the Wall; platforms to leap and recover on; pillars that decorated the terrain. By Her Will, Yshmael descended like a birds of prey. Hang time between descent brought forth visions and imagery of those fine beasts of voracious reach. He, too, would reach. Reach for the strength and courage to brave these never before seen horrors. The undead did not compare to these transmogrifications, but he would not falter. Yshmael's spear came through the head of a flying horror, which was ground into pulp upon the timely landing on a lower pillar. Ripping it free, he reached down to strike the earth and make his surroundings known to him. Waterskin opened again, he began to pray as his band converged. Priests and Soldiers and Casters rained down on the terrestrial terrors filing in. Skewers of Earth and Holy Water went into action alongside bolts of plasma, rifle fire, and blasts of all elemental imbuement shredded into the encroaching forces. Launching himself with a stony springboard, the Apprentice impaled a fungal horror and opened a window for two Priests to dismember the mess of mass. The conclusion of conflict for a moment granted him time to hear and feel the pressure and energy of explosions and electric fireblasts -- and not just missiles and terrors from the sky crashing! Arashi, as he would one day come to know her, was blasting her way out of a bad situation.. only it started to sound less successful. Pointing that way, he moved through the streets with ferocious grace, skillfully bisecting enemies and opening pits for Priests to slam shut. Laid to rest were these Unnatural intruders. He would not halt, not as long as he could breathe and think. The Three-that-are-She put him on a path beyond his comprehension, but he moved with Faith and Vigor. Spikes of earth produced a graveyard before and around Arashi as the Agent and his Good Company worked with civilians to secure the block and begin moving against them. "You! Come with us, we're moving into the City to crush these creatures!" He barked, though his tone still bore a genuine concern to it rather than a shouting sergeant. A twirl and whip-like casting movement launched a stone skewer from the ground into a flying horror up above, needing not the light of day to find those who would do him harm. The fog and nits made the sensory readings slightly vaguer, but it would not deter him enough to miss such fine shots. A way out of the field of spikes was made as the ground was pulled back to normalcy. Viscera littered the floor they walked over. His eyes, likely for the hundredth time, snapped back to the wall "supporting" Kahd'Xel to see what was happening. Yshmael could not afford to miss what could be seen of the epic cross between light and dark! The team would mobilize regardless of his glancing, and he would follow in suit -- hopefully with new company!
  9. Would it be best to bring a fight to the Rec Area? Or best to defend there? I've set it to suit either. On the former: It holds spheres of blessed water. HUGE, 10, 20 ft in diameter? Manipulate at will or trigger the autonomous defensive sphere attack in your post for NPC milling. Open the ground and close it on every horror you can lure in all omnomnom you feel me? The Latter: A GREAT place to maybe stash a bunch of people, preserve a barrier of holy water(if applicable and effective), IDK DROWN KAHD'XEL Nah but it is a plot piece I think could be utilized. Routing a fight by that point would keep the Xel from pushing defenses to/into the water and killing us on a closed beach : S If the idea brings too much heat to the Power Plant (which I would argue could benefit from the defense or diversion from enemies in the open green) but these are my thoughts. ^ ^; Scene 2 and 3 could converge to better defend the interior and the power plant Also have the recurring idea of establishing an electrifying or incinerating edge to keep further entry to the city/toward City Hall + Power Plant.
  10. @amenities 👀 Might we do something with Gaia's Word, the thread? Happy to post in it, if that's cool. Could test or train or just deepen things o:
  11. Forgive the wait! I'm packing for a holiday vacation ❤️ ! Fret not, for I will do my best to remain timely and at LEAST post once(hopefully twice!) a week for the next two weeks. More, depending on the amount of free time I have! I'll do my best to keep brevity in mind, though. Thanks for making me a part of this! ALSO if at any point my writing is too invasive or you DO have some anonymizing factors to your character, please let me know! I do not like to be abrasive with lore or one's agency. Saul is just an eldritch recording device xD (Who's tormenting patron[me hehe] may or may not plot with all that is gained!! )
  12. S a u l K a s s á b r a "Earthquakes.. Dragons.. Fae... What is not to love about this 'charming' little land?" He mused to no one other than himself. As he was moving through bone-white cloud coverage that only scarcely broke for light now as they came into the city of Eneraith, he seemed to be making great time. What had been a preliminary inquiry to see what is shaking things up had become the stuff of much fantasizing on the way here for Saul. Snow, cold, vagrants in the wild-- it left him utterly unfazed to think of inspecting the caves and mountains. His temperature-based issues had been diminished to little more than remedial inconveniences long ago. What could compare to his Time of Torment in that Deep, Dark, Black place he had been trapped in? The Ick regulated where a mortal body would have failed, and persisted to do so at all times now. Lucky for him, he had no intention of testing his limits when it came to getting to work. Èmhyr, here, he was a man of practicality who saw no use in complicating traversing distances. While reducing his need to impact the loci and the networking needed to move between them magically, he opted away from teleportation rituals and other wizened antics. This time, he moved on a public transport airship to Enairath. Upon arrival, boots met a snow capped landing space, with the fallout from the mountains seeming perpetual. Lucky for him his Black Robes were more than comfortable. Both dry and warm was the Ouread Lad. The dark ensemble to match the boots and cloak were a tunic and leather pants, imbued to accommodate his agility and dexterous movements; belts and a sword at the hip fastened to a baldric and bandolier. Reagents and compartmentalized weapons and accoutrements sat among the pouches, as did a dagger dark as night rest in a sheath near his heart. Standing high and proud, he moved through the settlement to one specific location: a lodge set for strangers to converge. A wyvern flew overhead, of familiar stock to the Continent judging by stride, smell, and sight. No, those Dark Eyes missed nothing when willingly applied. He smirked at the prospect of running across TerFractimosans in his work. Would he know them? Unlikely, he judged, by the lonesome work he generally partook in. The notice must have reached most of the civilized parts— he himself had seen or heard of three cities with the distressed inquiry. Critical thinking aside, Here was a Black Mage of the Ouread, taking in every smell and sight as he converged for work. Openly moving toward the voice that had chimed most confidently through the ruckus, Saul’Èmhyr took toward Dauner. His insides writhed with curiosity as the mage kept his Afflicktion in check. “Seems like you’re eager enough to find out yourself.” He half-joked now to the entities ahead of him. “Here for the inquiry, I’d assume?” He estimated this, rather than guessing. There was not much that did not merit thought or analysis. A quirked brow accentuated a broad-shouldered man's face further than his groomed beard or his past-the-shoulder-but-braided tresses already framed. Eyes cut to the she-orc, keeping his mind open as he recognized her as bearing the familiar wyvern scent.
×
×
  • Create New...